


Down With the Sickness

by negasonicteenageimagines (nostalgicstrawberry)



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Allusions to Avengers: Infinity War, Cuddling, Disney Movies, Ellie Gets Scared, Ellie is a Cute Girlfriend, F/F, In My Fics Superhero Movies are Actually Movies, Reader is Implied to be Smart, Sick!Reader, The Fucking Flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgicstrawberry/pseuds/negasonicteenageimagines
Summary: Someone’s sick with the flu. (It’s you.) Gentle care and emotional openness ensues.





	Down With the Sickness

“Dr. Banner… I don’t feel so good…”

“Those movies were so dramatic. Though, that’s probably what would’ve happened if the X-Men weren’t around,” he chuckles before noticing the pouty expression on your face. “What’s wrong?”

Your internship was a result of ignorance, Xavier’s school not knowing that Peter was Spider-Man and not just an intern at Stark Industries. They demanded their students get at least a chance at an internship out of mutant exclusion concerns, and Tony obliged. Originally, he was just going to say that he felt no one qualified for an internship, but Bruce insisted on hiring you. The two of you quickly became friends.

“My head hurts really bad… It’s still way too hot in here, are you sure you turned the temp down earlier?” you ask in a bit of a whiny tone, not that he really minds. It’s similar to having a child, but ready-made and probably far better than he could hope to raise.

“Very sure,” he replies, rubbing his hands together. You shiver, suddenly cold. “Hmm… Are you sick?”

“No way. Y/N L/N does  _not_ get sick.”

“You seem sick,” Bruce argues.

“I’m not-” you sniffle, continuing: “…sick.”

“Well, either way, it’s around time for you to get home.”

You look for a clock to see if he’s bluffing, it never felt like you were here as long as you really were.

No clock. No wonder Banner rarely slept. The phone rings.

“Uh-huh… Alright… Y/N, your girlfriend’s here to pick you up.”

“Her name is Ellie, y’know.”

“I know. But the happiness on your face when I say she’s your girlfriend is nice to see,” Bruce informs you, smiling a tight-lipped smile. You slip off your lab coat, hanging it on the hook before coughing a terrifyingly dry cough into your elbow.

“Have a great day, Dr. Banner. I want you asleep by midnight, young m-” you start to joke, but it dissolves into another cough, and you scurry out, not wanting to germ up the lab. You make your way to the elevator and travel down to the ground floor. You step out carefully, feeling a bit light-headed.

“Wow, you look like shit.”

“Thanks, babe, you look great as well,” you snark.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Future Mrs. L/N-hypen-Phimister, I don’t feel so good…”

“Shut up,” she snickers. “Are you  _actually_  getting sick? I didn’t think that was possible.” In the year you two had been together, you’d never once gotten sick, even allergies didn’t seem to affect you.

“I don’t get sick. It’s just allergies, probably,” you explain.

“Mmhmm..” She hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I thought you didn’t like a lot of PDA,” you joke.

“You have a fever,” she tells you grimly, unamused at your teasing. “Let’s get home.”

“Whatever you say, hon…” you reply, allowing yourself to be pulled along to her car. She’d gotten her license a little less than a year ago and enjoyed the responsibility of taking you back and forth to your internship, of taking care of you in that small way.

You relax in the passenger seat.

“I swear if you give me whatever you have, I’ll kick your ass.”  
  


“Mmhmm…”

The two of you eventually arrive at Xavier’s School.

“I’m tired…” You whine.

“Hi, Tired, I’m Ellie,” she remarks.

“Ellie…”

“Come on, let’s go to the infirmary,” she grumbles, letting you lean on her a little bit as the two of you go to the lower level of the house.

“So cold,” you complain, and she wraps her jacket around you without a word. “Too hot,” you mumble, beginning to get annoyed with yourself. Ellie looks at you, more concerned, but changes her expression before you can notice, and slides off the jacket.

“Ah, Mx. L/N. I heard your ailed thoughts, was wondering when you’d show up. And your shadow is here, too. Good,” Ms. Grey says.

“Their… _what?_ ” Ellie asks.

“You dress really dark and are around me often, that’s all…” You explain quietly, tiredly.

Ellie hums in acceptance, brushing your hair away from where it’s plastered on your face.

“Open up,” Jean requests.

“Well, it all started when…”

She smiles, shaking her head at your joke. You open your mouth, and she slides the glass thermometer under your tongue.

“I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes, as you can see, the flu is still going around, and it’s going strong.” She sighs, looking at you with worry before going to check on someone else.

“Shit, that’s probably what you have, huh?” Ellie verbalizes your thoughts unintentionally.

You whimper a little, feeling a little nauseous, and Ellie tentatively places an arm around you. Due to her mutation, she often has extra body heat radiating off of her. She doesn’t want to cause you discomfort.

Jean returns, removing the thermometer from your mouth.

“Just as I suspected, fever. Combined with your nausea, and-”

You sniff, nose running a little.

“Your other symptoms, I’d say that you’re like everyone else here except for myself and Ellie. You’ve got the flu.”

“Ugh…” You respond unhappily.

“You can take Ibuprofen to help, but what you need most is to drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of rest. I’d offer you a throat lozenge, but we’re all out.”  

“Are they not going to be treated here?” Ellie asks.

“If we had more bed space, or if the case was worse, I would have Y/N stay here, but I think this case is mild enough that they can rest in their dorm. You don’t mind taking care of them, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” she admits. “Come on, Y/N.”

You nod, following her out of the infirmary and back upstairs to the dorm.

“You should take a quick shower and get into comfy clothes, I’ll set up the bed and stop by 7-Eleven for the stuff you’ll need.”

“Wallet’s in the black purse.”

She shakes her head, leaving.

You go into the attached bathroom, stripping before turning on the water. Once it’s at a satisfactory temperature, you step inside the shower/bath, closing the curtain behind you. You lather your head with shampoo before rinsing and scrubbing at your body with a soap-drenched washcloth. Once you’re rinsed off, you apply conditioner to your hair. While you let it sit, you decide to shave your legs. ( _If you don’t shave, I love and support you, but for plot purposes, let’s pretend you do, okay? Thank you._ )

You sit down, not wanting to be bothered by fancy acrobatics to reach everything. You wet the razor and get some shaving cream (or gel,) rubbing it onto your first leg. You remove the hair with ease, gliding the tool up your shin and thigh gracefully. When you get to the second leg, though, after coating it with the cream (or gel,) you find yourself drowsy, unable to keep your eyes open. The steam of the warm shower is  _so_  soothing, and it’s been  _such_  a long day. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You’re suddenly being shaken.

“Ugh…” you groan, feeling severely nauseous. You push whoever it is off of you, and your next step is to hurl into the toilet.

“Christ, Y/N! You scared the fucking shit out of me!” It’s Ellie.

“What do you mean?” you ask weakly.

“I thought you died or fainted in the shower, dumbass!”

“Oh, I fell asleep?” you tell her, but ask yourself. “Babe, can you shave my other leg?”

“No,” she responds. “Put some clothes on.”

“What, you don’t think I’m hot anymore?” You pout.

“No, it’s just that you’re shivering. A lot,” she points out, and you nod in final realization, putting some clean underwear and pajamas on. You return to find your dorm straightened up, as well as some of Ellie’s bedding transferred to your own bed. “Here’s that stupid organic juice you like, and the other stuff Jean told us about.”

“Jean didn’t tell us about  _Wreck-It-Ralph_  and your portable DVD player,” you comment.

“It’s the only Disney movie I can stand,” she says, trying to glare, with her red cheeks ruining the effect. She always did get so embarrassed when it was pointed out how much she cared. That, or she was stone cold. Just to prove that she didn’t. (Even though she totally did.)

“It’s my favorite,” you say softly, smiling a little as she reaches for your hand, pulling you to the bed with care. Gentle tingles creep up your arms at her always-gentle touch. (Well, not  _always_. But that’s for another, far more NSFW story.)

“Because it’s the only one I can stand. It used to be  _Tangled_.”

“But _Wreck-It-Ralph_  was my second favorite,” you remind her as she tucks you in, peeling off  many layers of clothing before sliding under the many layers of blankets, with you. “ _Bow chicka wow-wow_ ,” you comment, giggling.

“I hate you,” she says in a deadpan voice, but smiles a little at your antics. She pulls you close, and you make no remark, not very used to the close physical touch that you craved from her but rarely received. “I was really scared…” she says quietly, and you’re not sure if she’s scared for you to hear her, or for her to hear herself confess such a thing as fear. When you don’t laugh it off or make fun of her, she continues, a little louder: “…When I called for you and you didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell if you were breathing at first when I pulled back the curtain. Worst five seconds of my life, honestly. Worse than waking up to my house in ashes. Worse than… Anything. I never- I never want to hurt you, or be the reason you’re hurt, ever. I love you-” She trembles a little. “I love you so much.”

“Press play, already. I love you too, El.” Some other time, you’d tell her just how much she meant to you, but you didn’t want to over do the romance, knowing it’d only push her away. What she said was enough, and you snuggle in closer, knowing she’ll get the message. She smiles at you, a genuine, though modest, smile. Not the kind she gave when someone else (often Wade) faced misery or misfortune, but a sweet one. You smile back before closing your eyes. She doesn’t press play, turning off the player and setting it aside before returning her arms to their rightful place, firmly around you, and drifting off alongside you.


End file.
